


Passion and Serenity

by atamascolily



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Kushiel's Legacy Fusion, Bodyguard, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Intrigue, Jedi Code (Star Wars), lots of other kinks touched on, thrawn's a manipulative bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: Mara Jade is an indentured courtesan with a genetic quirk that makes her perceive pain as pleasure. Luke Skywalker is her reluctant bodyguard, uncomfortable with the implications of her profession. When the two of them are captured by a certain Grand Admiral, they will be forced to work together in order to survive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/gifts).



> This fic was written as part of a L/M kink challenge instigated by JadeDjo, aided and abetted by the fic whining circle, especially evilmouse, who loves the Mara/Thrawn dynamic. I've liberally borrowed some plot and aesthetic elements from Jacqueline Carey's _Kushiel's Legacy_ series, because the parallels between the two franchises makes for a very interesting playground indeed. 
> 
> Prompt: bodyguard, AU, crossover, fusion, forced intimacy.

Mara went to see Karrde on her return to the Hijarna fortress, still wearing the emerald-green backless gown from her liaison with Tyber Zann the evening before. It was one of her favorites, matching her eyes and setting off the tattooed lines of the blood-red marque that rippled up her spine in graceful curves. It was Zann's favorite, too; he'd startled drooling the moment she'd walked in the door. Satisfying him hardly counted as work. 

Talon Karrde, however, was not so easily moved. He looked up from his data pad with barely repressed amusement as she stormed into his office, still fuming. "I trust it went well?" 

"I don't _need_ a bodyguard," Mara spat at him. "Let alone a sexless, stick-in-the-mud Jedi who despises me. I can take care of _myself_ , thank you very much." 

Karrde didn't even blink. "With all due respect to your abilities, my dear, we live in dangerous times. And I'd prefer our competitors to believe you a vapid little courtesan without a brain in her head, incapable of protecting herself. Or would you rather I send Ghent in your place to ferret out intelligence?" 

As he'd intended, the threat stung. Mara choked back an angry reply, the mote of red burning in her left eye before subsiding back to its usual pinprick on the edge of her vision. "No," she said, careful to keep her voice smooth and even, concealing her fury. Appearances were important, even if they both knew it was a lie. 

"You are a jewel of great price, chosen by chance or fate or whatever gods you believe in. There hasn't been an _anguisette_ in known space for three hundred years, and all my clients know it. My job is to sell information to the highest bidder, and I cannot do that nearly so effectively without also keeping _you_ safe." His voice, already sharp with irritation, took on a darker edge. "Therefore, as much as you detest this Jedi I have assigned to you, you will let him accompany you everywhere outside this fortress, or I will sell your marque to the Mandalorians and be done with you. Do you understand?" 

There was only one answer possible. She bowed low, the same fluid motion she had learned as a child growing up in the Emperor's Night Court. "Yes."

"Good." Talon Karrde, head of a vast network of smugglers and less-than-legal information brokers, sat back in his chair in grim satisfaction. 'The Whoremaster of Spies,' folk called him behind his back--and occasionally to his face. "Now tell me about your tryst with Zann." 

She told him. Oh, not so much the details of what she'd done to Zann or he to her; Karrde wasn't a voyeur. He was more interested in what she'd learned of Zann's character during their time together, the little tidbits and tells he'd let slip when she was bound and helpless at his mercy. 

"He's cold, methodical, and arrogant. Tremendous confidence in himself. He still holds a grudge towards Car'das, and thinks you know where he is. He's vowed to make Car'das pay for all kinds of sins, real and imagined," she concluded. 

"And he took some of that out on you, I see," Karrde said, his gaze resting on the bruises clustered around her collarbone. "I trust he's feeling generous then." 

Mara shrugged. "Well enough. Ten thousand credits for my patron-fee, in addition to the sum he negotiated with you." All in all, it would have been a relaxing visit, if not for that damn Jedi waiting around for her to finish--and the of pity and scorn that flashed across his face when he spotted the bruises. 

They'd been a lot worse a few hours ago; her skin healed quickly, even without bacta. Two days from now, there'd be no evidence at all of any rough play. 

"Good," Karrde said. "Perhaps Zann will make another offer soon. In the meantime, rest up. You've more than earned it. I'll call when you are needed."

Sensing a dismissal, she bowed again and left.

***

The Jedi was waiting for her when she emerged from Karrde's office. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but she couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or shy. Maybe he was disgusted by the pinprick of red in her left eye that marked her as an _anguisette_? She could wear contacts to disguise it, but why bother when that was the whole point of her allure--why bother hiding what made her unique? If the Jedi was put off by it, he was more of a fool than she thought. 

Maybe he hated her for letting a man like Tyber Zann pay for the privilege of choking her while he fucked her, as if she soiled herself by defying whatever puerile notions of purity his cult possessed. 

At the moment, Mara was too tired and irritable to care about the Jedi's opinions. She was stuck with him, and they were going to have to come to some sort of resolution, lest matters come to blows. In the years before Karrde purchased her marque, she'd been trained in the arts of covertcy in the Night Court, and had killed more than once for the Emperor. But the Jedi was better at hand-to-hand than she was, and she would never win in an open quarrel. That meant a slightly more subtle approach.

The Jedi was beautiful, she'd grant him that. With piercing blue eyes and dusty blond hair tied down his back in a loose braid, he was attractive enough to have served in the Night Court himself. The brown hooded cloak did him no favors, but the formfitting black of his office underneath amplified his considerable charms, making a mockery of his Order's alleged dedication to modesty. He'd look good on her arm at social gatherings, which would amplify the lusts of any potential patrons who might be present--a nice side benefit. Only the lightsaber at his side and his sneer of disdain gave a hint of how dangerous he truly was.

Once there had been legions of Jedi, a warrior cult of magnificent proportions, famous for upholding peace and justice throughout the galaxy. In recent years, they had all but died out, leaving only a few lone holdouts in isolated hermitages to teach the next generation. Too few now would ever offer up their children to the grueling training regime, the all-encompassing discipline and the sacrifices such powers would entail. Yet here he was, one of the last of his kind, personally retained by Karrde for her sole benefit at great expense. 

Had the Jedi not been so annoying, she would have been flattered by the evidence that Karrde valued her so much. 

As if he sensed her thoughts, the Jedi bowed with a graceful sweep of head and spine, still carefully avoiding her face. 

"Look," Mara said, bending down so he was forced to look at her. "I don't like this any more than you do, but a contract's a contract, and I respect that. I know you hate me and everything that I stand for, but this will be a more pleasant experience for _both_ of us if you can keep your feelings to yourself. Otherwise--" She pursed her lips, humming to herself for a moment before continuing. "I will insist that my bodyguard be in the room for all future assignations, and I will be very, very _loud_. Do we understand each other?" 

He raised his head at this, anger flaring in his eyes, but held his silence. He nodded once, his lips set.

"Good. I'll be in my quarters, but there's a courtyard outside if you care to meditate." She needed a bath--she reeked of sweat and Tyber Zann's cologne--but decided it would be best not to needle him any further just now by mentioning that. 

As she swept past him down the hallway, he began to chant the Jedi Code under his breath, as if she couldn't hear him. "There is no emotion, only peace. There is no ignorance, only knowledge. There is no passion, only serenity--" 

Then she turned the corner, and all was quiet again. 

***

Mara had always loved hot baths. Years of deprivation in the dark time after the Emperor's death had taught her to take what pleasures she could while they were available. After a luxurious hour in the tub she called for her maid Chloe in to rub oils and unguents into her skin and comb out her hair while she lay back. She could do it herself--had done it for years in the Night Court, long before she'd come to Karrde's household--but it was one of the perks of her position here, and she reveled in it. By the time Chloe was finished, it was mid-afternoon, the dusky sunlight filtering through the clouds in a spectacular burst of crepescular rays.

Mara yawned as she looked out the window into the courtyard, not expecting the Jedi to be there waiting for her. Surely, he'd given up and gone to bed in his own quarters after waiting up all night for Zann to finish with her. To her surprise, he was cross-legged in the garden below, his hands on his knees, still as the blank plinth he'd constructed his first day here to honor the Force. 

Even as she watched, he rose to his feet with fluid grace, shaking out his limbs with practiced ease. Then he drew his lightsaber, and ignited the phosphorescent green blade, spiraling into a complex series of lunges and parries against some invisible opponent. 

Damn self-righteous religious fanatic, she thought with a frown. But he could _move_ when he wanted to. She had to admit he was good. Very good. Karrde was certainly getting his money's worth with this one. 

She went to her datapad, but her concentration was poor; her eyes kept flicking back to the Jedi's exercises. When a barefoot Ghent padded into the courtyard, his aquamarine hair tumbling down his back in a disorderly cascade, she gave up all pretense of scholarship, and watched in fascination as he approached the Jedi. From the slicer's rapturous expression, he was as fascinated by the Jedi's display of skill and couldn't hold back a bubbling stream of questions. 

Only the barest trace of his marque was visible underneath the slicer's ivory tunic, but that was deliberate. Ghent wasn't as open about his indenture as Mara, and usually kept it covered unless Karrde specifically ordered otherwise. But the Jedi couldn't miss the significance of the looping blue helices on the back of Ghent's neck; he might be obnoxious, but he wasn't stupid. 

Whatever Ghent said made the Jedi pause and shake his head. Mara thought the Jedi would go back to his forms and ignore the slicer; most people did, after a few minutes of Ghent's conversation. To her surprise, he used the saber to cut two stout branches from the nearby ch'hala overshadowing the western corner. Stowing his own blade, he handed one to Ghent and began to walk through the sword-forms, using their makeshift weapons as proxies for the real thing. 

Who would have guessed the Jedi would have such kindness for an indentured servant? 

As if her thought had drawn his attention, the Jedi's gaze flickered upward to where she stood exposed in the windowsill. She moved away quickly, back to her datapad, this time ensuring _The History of Corvis Minor_ fully occupied her attention. 

***

Her relationship with the Jedi was easier after that--from her perspective, if not his. She went on two more assignations without incident--one with Zann and one with a man from Billey's group who Karrde thought might be useful as an informant. She went to parties and social events as Karrde's eyes and ears, memorizing the gossip to recite it back to him later, even as it bored here. Always, the Jedi trailed a discreet step behind her, silent as a shadow, watching for danger. 

It wasn't until they were on their way back to their ship after the third assignation with Zann that she saw him in action. A drunken boor on the edge of the port made a crude attempt to paw her, and she jerked back with disgust, reaching for the holdout blaster wrapped discreetly around her calf. Even as she palmed the weapon, the Jedi stepped forward to intercept the man, one hand at his hip. 

"I think you've mistaken her for someone else," the Jedi said smoothly with a wave of his free hand. "Move along." 

The drunk didn't take the hint, pressing forward to reach for Mara. She evaded him easily--only to feel something hard and cold pressed against the back of her neck. It wasn't until she felt the slow trickle of blood down her back that she realized they'd been set up. The drunk's partner in crime didn't want to hurt her, just teach her a lesson, but it was too late--he'd already broken the skin. 

The pain blossomed through her body, bursting forth into a haze of pleasure that eclipsed everything else, even the robbery in progress. _Not the reaction they expected_ , she thought distantly, with the part of her mind that was still capable of rational thought. Not that it mattered, she could still get kidnapped or killed anyway because she couldn't defend herself in this state-- 

Fortunately, the Jedi was under no such handicaps, and his lightsaber was out in an instant. With two buzzing strokes, the drunk and his partner were down on the ground, screaming at the bloody stumps where their arms had been seconds earlier. "Come _on_ ," he hissed to Mara, his free hand digging into her shoulder as he pulled her along the street towards the docking bay. 

Still in a daze, she let him drag her along, her blaster dangling limply from her hand. By the time they reached the ship, the sensations had subsided, and she was herself again, more or less. 

Though she couldn't deny a frisson of excitement as the Jedi pushed her against the bulkhead once they were safely aboard, pinning her in place. He was angry and made no secret of hiding it, his gloved fingers rough on her arms and shoulders. 

"I saw you palm the blaster," he said tightly, as if holding back his temper was a considerable effort. "What were you _thinking_? You could have gotten us both _killed_ \--" 

She flopped back against the wall, her body going limp again at the pain, the way it always did with her patrons. He must have realized it, because he released her abruptly and turned away with a shudder, busying himself with preparations for takeoff. Only when they were in hyperspace back to Hijarna did he address her again. 

"Is it always like that for you?"

"Yes," Mara said shortly, running her fingers over the cut on the back of her neck--already healing. "Didn't Karrde explain I was an _anguisette_ when you came here? That the wires in my brain are crossed, confusing pain for pleasure?" 

"I didn't really believe it until just now," the Jedi confessed, unable to meet her eyes. "I thought--" He colored, broke off the sentence, and went back to fiddling with the controls. 

"You thought I was an innocent?" Mara pressed, delighted by the sudden reversal of roles. "You thought I did all those awful things because I was forced to by the terms of my indenture, not because I wanted to? You thought I didn't enjoy them?" 

"Well--I wondered." He straightened, recovering some of his poise. "I don't like indenture. Too close to slavery for my tastes." 

"Believe me, it was better than the alternative," she said. "Karrde treats his people like family. My life has been good since I joined his organization. I make excellent money and my marque is almost finished. A few more inches and I'll be a free woman again." 

"And what will you do then?" 

His question stung. "Probably the same things I do now. I'm well-suited for my work and I enjoy it. What more can you ask for in life?" 

"A purpose larger than yourself," the Jedi countered. "Something good, something true, something noble. Something to hold onto when all hope seems lost." 

"And you have that?" Mara said before she could stop herself. 

"I do," he said, with such earnest zeal she half-expected him to start proselytzing to her then and there about the salvation possible through the Force. But then the navicomputer beeped, announcing their return to Hijarna and she slipped away while he was distracted, angry at herself for engaging in his games in the first place. 

***

The months went by in a blur for Mara--assignation, recovery, assignation again, all overseen by the sullen, sulking, silent Jedi. She wondered why he stayed, but no doubt Karrde's payments made up for any perceived indignities. There was no shortage of other work for him to do had he wanted it. The Imperial Remnant was resurging as the New Republic fell back, as rumors swirled of a mysterious Grand Admiral, a tactical genius who won victory after victory, altering the balance of power in the galaxy yet again. A good bodyguard--let alone a Jedi--would find themselves in high demand on the open market. Yet he stayed. 

Like any good information broker, Karrde was adept at playing both sides and shifting with the wind. But he had a card up his sleeve Mara had never anticipated, one that could change the outcome of the war-- and its value to either side was incalculable.

"You've heard of the _Katana_ fleet, of course," Karrde said to her. They were in his office again in their usual positions - he settled in the massive chair behind the desk while she paced the floor. 

Mara nodded. "Who hasn't? It's a cautionary tale of the perils of hubris. Two hundred Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers were launched by the Republic in an attempt to re-capture its fading glory, all slaved to the same master circuits. But a hive virus drove its crews insane, the task force's captain jumped the ships blindly into hyperspace, and they were lost forever."

"True enough," Karrde agreed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "But they weren't lost. At least, the ships weren't."

She stopped pacing, startled. "How do you know?" 

Karrde was clearly enjoying her discomfiture. "Because I've seen them. Back in the days when I was still working for Car'das, I served as a navigator of a freighter of a certain Captain Hoffner. When a couple of Carrack-class light cruisers surprised us out of Abishan, I was forced to make a blind jump to hyperspace. We emerged surrounded by ships--and, assuming we'd stumbled into another Imperial patrol, I quickly jumped us out of there. It was only later that I realized the significance of what we'd seen. I was able to wipe the coordinates from the computer after copying them to my own private files--but it's unclear what the captain does and doesn't know about it. I want you to find out." 

"What about the rest of the crew?" Mara was amazed at how casual she sounded, given an assignment of this magnitude. Two hundred Dreadnaughts in near-mint condition were nothing to sneer at. The Imperial Remnant would gladly welcome such a fleet, and so would the New Republic, or even some of the larger independent warlords jostling for territory. 

And of course, its value to Karrde--and thus to her--would be incalculable. 

"None of them even knew we were there," Karrde said. "Most of them are dead now, anyway." 

"Perfect." She didn't ask if Karrde was responsible for that; she didn't think so, but it wasn't any of her business. "Well, then, where is Captain Hoffner, and will he be expecting me?" 

"Oh, yes, he's expecting you," Karrde purred, pleased at the prospect. "You'll find him on the _Coral Vanda_ , a subocean luxury casino on Pantolomin. I've already made reservations for you and the Jedi, and the _Starry Ice_ is waiting for you in the hangar. You will leave immediately." 

She nodded, and turned away. She would have expected no less, for something this important. 

"Oh, and Mara?" Karrde called as she reached for the door. 

"Yes?" 

"Be careful." 

She favored him with a thin smile. "I always am." 

***

"I have a bad feeling about this," the Jedi said the two of them threaded their way through the corridors of the _Coral Vanda_ en route to Hoffner's stateroom. 

"Is anyone following us?" Mara said under her breath, pretending to admire the view of the reef visible through the windows that took up the entirety of the aft wall and ceiling. 

The Jedi shook his head. "Nothing I can sense. But something is wrong, even if I don't know what it is." 

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Mara said bluntly, picking up her pace. "All we have to do is get to Hoffner and let me work. Karrde said he was expecting us--" 

"That's what I'm afraid of," he sighed, but he didn't stop and neither did she. 

The hallways on this level had thick carpet that muffled the sound of their footsteps. The door of Hoffner's stateroom was gilded, and the ornate knocker was framed with fanciful designs of aquatic plants. There was no answer when Mara knocked. 

"That's odd," she said, fiddling with the knob, only to for the door to open under her hands. "It's not locked. I guess he really is expecting us--" 

She pushed open the door, and stepped into the suite, the Jedi at her heels--only to find it empty. 

To be sure, there was a couch and a desk and a set of chairs--not to mention an elaborate bed tucked away in a room of its own off to one side--but every surface was coated with a thick layer of dust and it was clear that no being--not even a cleaning droid--had been allowed in here for some time. Which meant--

She ducked behind the couch seconds before the blaster bolt slammed into the wall behind her. Three suited humans blocked the doorway, firing away. No doubt they'd counted on the thick carpet to hide any sign of pursuit. But surely the Jedi would have sensed them--

No matter. His blade was out in seconds, harmlessly deflecting the next round of blaster fire into the elegantly paneled walls. Mara was able to duck out from behind the couch long enough to shoot at them before the Jedi closed the gap, ruining her line of fire. It barely mattered--they all went down in a flurry of screams, and then it was eerily quiet. It was only when she emerged from cover that she realized all three of them were wearing odd little backpacks, each containing a grey-furred lizard that blinked sleepily up at them, unperturbed by the sudden violence. 

"What _are_ those things?" Mara said in disgust, poking at one of them with her foot. 

The Jedi sheathed his lightsaber. "I don't know, but I don't like them. I can't sense _anything_ right now--" 

"Doesn't matter," she hissed. "They were waiting for us. They knew we were coming. Hoffner sold us out. Which means whoever he sold us to wants us dead. We've got to let Karrde know immediately." 

The Jedi reached for his comlink, only to frown when the only response was a buzzy crackle over the line. "He's not answering. Which means--" 

"--we better make it in time." 

***

They didn't. She knew that for certain when no one came to meet them when they landed at the Hijarna fortress, knew it again when she stumbled out into the courtyard and saw the bodies left where they had fallen in the slaughter. She caught sight of the limp form of her maid Chloe, a gaping hole in her forehead and shuddered " _No_ \--" she sobbed, breaking into a run even as the Jedi cried out for her to stop. 

She nearly tripped over Ghent, lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor outside Karrde's office. "Mara," he wheezed. "No--get out of here--it's a trap--" 

She didn't care. She flung open the door, and stepped through into the room. The big chair behind Karrde's desk was turned away, as if he were looking out the window for a view of the courtyard beyond--

The chair turned. Its occupant was a blue-skinned humanoid with pupilless red eyes, dressed in the immaculate white uniform of an Imperial Grand Admiral. The only note out of place was the grey-furred lizards was draped across his shoulders along with the golden epaulets. 

Mara's breath caught in her throat. She'd seen him from a distance now and then back in the old days, but never this close. " _Thrawn_ \--" 

"Well, well, well," said the Grand Admiral, making no attempt to hide his amusement. His slow, rich baritone had only the faintest trace of an accent. "Mara Jade. Luke Skywalker. Delighted to make your acquaintance at last." 

Luke _who_ \--? Oh, right, the Jedi--true to form, she hadn't even noticed him behind her. 

With a crackling hum, the Jedi ignited his lightsaber. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Oh, no, none of that," Thrawn said with a dismissive wave. "Rukh, if you would be so kind--?" 

She didn't see how they subdued the Jedi, or who stunned her. Even as she reached for her hold-out blaster, something hot and heavy hit her throat, and everything collapsed in a sea of grey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Thrawn's dialogue in this chapter ("Have a care, Jade," etc) is quoted from the chapter where he meets Mara in _Dark Force Rising_ by Timothy Zahn. 
> 
> The Cereus House canon of perfection and ephemeral beauty works awfully well as a guiding philosophy for the Emperor's Court.
> 
> Have I mentioned lately that Thrawn is a terrible person, and the Empire is full of shit? Exhibit A: this chapter. You're welcome.

Mara had spent enough time in Imperial prison cells that awakening in one came as no surprise. This one had been modified from the traditional configuration to include a padded floor, furniture firmly bolted to the floor, and a high-end 'fresher. From the sleeping bench, she spied security cameras discreetly hidden at three different angles--which meant there were at least two others she hadn't located yet. 

It was a prison, but a high-end one. That meant that they wanted something from her, something impossible to extract by force--unless Thrawn was playing a much more subtle game than any Imperial commander she'd previously encountered. 

A quick survey of the room revealed nothing else of interest apart a set of folded white squares on one of the chairs. As she picked up, she realized it was a senior lieutenant's uniform, complete with the characteristic insignia on the left breast. 

She recognized it at once as an invitation and a challenge wrapped in one. Thrawn couldn't have been more obvious if he had slapped her as a prelude to a duel, as was custom in less civilized enclaves. He knew what she was, what she had been back in the glory days of the old Empire. If she accepted this, she would be playing the game on his terms. 

On the other hand-- She looked down at the remains of the dress she'd worn for assignation with Hoffner, tattered and grubby after two scuffles separated by hours of anxious pacing aboard the _Starry Ice_ en route to Hijarna. There was a bloodstain on her skirt that was probably Ghent's, and another on her back that could have belonged to any number of people. Wearing this during the inevitable confrontation would make a statement, too, and not one that put her at an advantage. 

How utterly galling of him to make this _her_ decision. 

She stalked off to the 'fresher with the uniform in tow, stripping off her soiled garments and cranking up the temperature as high as she could. She wouldn't put it past them to have cameras in here, too, but privacy wasn't something one expected in any space controlled by the Empire, let alone its prisons. They may have granted her a few more luxuries than the standard detention unit in hopes of coaxing her into cooperation, but she was under no illusions about her circumstances. 

Were Karrde and the Jedi even now being tortured for whatever scraps of information the interrogators and probes could wring from their minds? Or were they already dead? 

She ground her teeth, careful to keep her expression neutral in case someone was watching the cameras. When she was clean and dry at last, she stepped out of the fresher and pulled the white uniform over her head, letting the white tunic settle around her with a satisfying rustle. It fit perfectly, as she knew it would--Thrawn wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of sending her such an outfit without the proper measurements. 

She hadn't played a game like this one in a long time. Smugglers and criminals were generally unsophisticated in their tastes--they liked to brawl, beat, and bruise, but subtlety was rare, even among the bigger bosses. With assignations for Karrde, she knew what tidbits to look for, and researched the best way to coax that information out of her patrons. The stakes here were higher, compounded by her ignorance of the rules of the game--assuming there were any. 

She didn't expect Thrawn to honor any promises he made. He always-- _always_ \--played to win. 

Little did he know that Mara Jade did, too. 

***

When the Stormtrooper escort came for her, she didn't flinch, but slid sedately into the middle of their formation with practiced hauteur. The helmets meant she couldn't see their faces, but no doubt they stared, put off by her lack of resistance. Did they know why she was here and what their commanding officer wanted? Did it matter if they did? They said nothing, and neither did she. 

In the old days, there weren't many women among the Emperor's troops, let alone any ranking officers. Thrawn might have instated a more liberal hiring policy, but if so, she saw no evidence of it as the guards led her through the corridors of what was clearly his flagship to the Grand Admiral's private command room. 

The chamber was designated as the captain's luxury entertainment suite on the standard Star Destroyer blueprints, but Thrawn had redecorated, pulling out most of the equipment and leaving the room bare except for a massive holodisplay across the floor and walls, and a single floating chair in the same style the Emperor had favored for his throne. He was sitting there in profile when she entered, the furry grey lizard still draped across his shoulders, red eyes narrowed to half-slits as he contemplated the holographic pottery in front of him.

He looked up as the stormtroopers came in with Mara in tow, and nodded once. "Thank you, Captain. Dismissed." 

"Sir--" the captain started, clearly about to object to leaving their superior officer alone with an unrestrained prisoner in direct violation of Imperial policy. 

"That will be all, Captain. Dismissed." His tone was pleasant enough, but there was a hint of edge underneath it that made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. His eyes flicked to the shadows at the opposite corner of the room. "Rukh will make sure our prisoner attempts nothing untoward." 

In confirmation, a high-pitched chuckle rang from the corner as a hooded figure stepped forward, flexing the knife at his belt. Mara's eyes narrowed. A Noghri. Apparently, Thrawn had inherited the Emperor's private Death Commandoes. That would explain how he'd gotten the Jedi down, too. 

The captain took the hint. "Yes, sir, of course, we'll be right outside. Standing by," he stammered, and hustled the troops out the door with alacrity that would have been amusing had her circumstances not been so dire. 

"Stand down, Rukh," Thrawn said to his bodyguard. "Mara Jade knows better than to try any tricks under your watchful eye. Isn't that right?" 

Rukh bowed, before fading back into the shadows. It was a gesture so much like the one the Jedi had always given to her that her lip trembled before she caught herself. He was still alive, or he wasn't, and falling apart now wasn't going to help either way. 

"Welcome to the _Chimaera_ , Mara Jade," Thrawn said, turning back to her. "I do apologize for the rather crude method of making your acquaintance at last, but it was of highest important that no tales slipped back to the New Republic. I am sure you understand the necessity of secrecy in wartime."

"We've met before," Mara said stiffly. "During the public dedication of the new Assemblage wing of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. At that ceremony the Emperor introduced me to you as Lianna, one of his favorite dancers. That evening he gave you the rank of Grand Admiral in a private ceremony, which I attended in a very different capacity." 

He hadn't expected her to remember. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared slightly--that was all. It was all she needed to press her advantage. 

"What did you do to Karrde?" she demanded, stalking forward in a rush, stopping just short of his chair. She didn't have the hopes of doing anything to hurt him before Rukh pulled her back, but it felt good to release her anger at last. "Hoffner already sold you the location of the _Katana_ fleet. Why even bother attacking us?" 

"On the contrary," Thrawn replied, his composure now restored. "The coordinates provided by Captain Hoffner have yet to be verified. We took Karrde into our custody as a back-up, should the scouts' reports indicate a double-cross." 

"You could have _asked_ Karrde for the information you wanted!" 

"I could have. And I chose not to. Surely you understand the distinction. Karrde's organization has been of assistance on occasion, but has also tested my patience on far too many others. They had outlived their usefulness. _You_ however, have not." 

Mara crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know what you mean." 

"Interesting." Thrawn studied her for a long moment. "I would have thought you'd welcome the opportunity to return to Imperial service." 

Mara thought of the chaos after the Emperor's death at Endor, of Ysanne Isard and her ruthless bid for power, and shuddered. "All of the warlords and petty dictators were too busy scrabbling with each other over scraps. Karrde took me in when no one else would. I owe him a great debt for that." 

"At least two more inches on your marque, I understand," Thrawn agreed with a nod. "But while your sympathies are understandable, mixed loyalties are a luxury no officer of the Imperial Fleet can afford. Certainly not if she wishes to be given a command of her own someday."

Mara tensed. So that was the offer. Lose one job, gain another--with a promotion to boot. And if she refused--

"I thought you might say something different, given my background," she said at last. 

Thrawn smiled. "An _anguisette_ makes for a poor soldier, but an excellent spy and courier. Yes, Emperor's Hand, you served Palpatine admirably. Yet according to our records, your relationship with Imperial Intelligence was...poor." 

That was an understatement. It was a good thing her skin was incapable of scarring, or else not a single piece of her would still be intact. Bacta could only do so much and Isard had been... thorough. Very thorough. A prisoner who was as responsive to pain as Mara had been a godsend for her. 

The worst part was that she still dreamed about those sessions in the _Lusankya_ \--and not all of those dreams were nightmares. 

"The Emperor trusted me to work independently," Mara said, cutting through the memories. " _He_ found me worthy of that trust." 

"Very diplomatic of you," Thrawn said. "But you haven't answered my question." 

She wasn't going to give it to him. "I see what you want with Karrde. But the Jedi--" 

"He also will be useful to us, in one way or another. As ransom or..." 

"Ransom?" she repeated, puzzled. The Jedi was talented with a blade, yes, but his Order had neither the funds nor the manpower to ransom lost recruits, especially those on contract. And who else would care so much that _Thrawn_ would know about it--?

Mara's confusion amused Thrawn, enough for him to explain further. "His sister is the Chief of State of the New Republic. I'm sure she'd offer a great deal--clandestinely or otherwise--for his safe return. And while the Jedi Order is far from its former glory, there are those who want him for purposes of their own." 

She hadn't known. She'd never asked Karrde, who must have known, nor had she ever asked the Jedi about himself. They'd never had so much as a personal conversation. It had never occurred to her that he might have a life outside the Order, or what had come before those ten years of intensive training on whatever grubby tenth-rate system he'd come from. 

"It seems the royal house of Alderaan had many secrets," Thrawn continued idly, stroking the lizard on his shoulder. It purred sleepily for a moment before subsiding. "And they, at least, found it convenient to send their superfluous sons and unwanted foundlings to the Jedi for training, in keeping with the old traditions. But even if Leia Organa Solo rejects our offer, there are others out there eager for a Jedi of their own to bend to their will. But no matter. Like Karrde and Skywalker, you _will_ serve the Empire, Mara Jade. Unlike them, however, you have the opportunity to choose your duties." 

"Serve _you_ , you mean," Mara spat, abandoning any further attempts at diplomacy. 

"Have a care, Jade," he said softly. "I rule the Empire now. Not some long-dead Emperor; certainly not you. The only treason is defiance of my orders. I am making you a generous offer, but that offer can be summarily withdrawn should you engage in any more outbursts." 

The smartest thing to do would be to salute and apologize. _Yes, sir. I understand. It won't happen again._ Give into the inevitable, accept her change of fate, and follow orders, biding her time until she could have her revenge. Until she could teach the Grand Admiral _that which yields is not always weak._

Surrender and live. Defy him and die. Those were her options. 

And yet she couldn't bring herself to give up Karrde and the Jedi, to abandon them to their fates. No matter what Thrawn promised, she didn't trust him not to double-cross her. 

Mara straightened to her full height and looked Thrawn straight in the eye. "Let Karrde and the Jedi go, and I'll do whatever you want." 

"I admire your courage, but you are not in a position to negotiate," Thrawn said. 

Somehow Rukh was at her elbow, locking her wrists behind her into cuffs, forcing her to her knees. She went limp under the blow, dreamy with the sensation, and closed her eyes, expecting any minute to feel the kiss of a knife in her back. 

But it never came. There was only her own labored breathing--and the Grand Admiral's slow, silken chuckle from his chair. 

"Nevertheless, I accept your offer," he said languidly, as she opened her eyes. "To be honest, I've always wondered the full extent of an _anguisette_ 's capacities. The records are... quite lacking in certain details." 

So it was going to be Isard all over again, then. Mara flushed with anticipation at the thought, and hated herself for it. Arousal was not, perhaps, the best reaction to impending torture, but... 

"Most beings have the crudest understanding of pain," Thrawn continued. "They wield it like a cudgel, a blunt instrument, or avoid it at all costs. They run from even the slightest hint of it. If you know what your enemy finds most painful, you can force them to act at your beck and call in exchange for relief. But you, I think, understand differently. You are not afraid of pain. That makes you interesting." 

He was wrong, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She _was_ afraid of pain--but for entirely different reasons. 

"So," he said, rising to his feet and looking down at her. "We'll see just how much an _anguisette_ can do. Let us begin." 

***

_"Mara--what happened to your eye?"_

_Mara stiffened as Talon Karrde joined her on the upper balcony of the Hijarna fortress, where she had been watching the sunset in a rare moment of relaxation between jobs. "You caught me without my contacts on. It's a genetic defect I was born with," she said woodenly, avoiding his gaze and wondering if he would sell her marque now that he knew. How foolish of her not to have an extra set of contacts with her at all times, or at least dark glasses._

_"Why do you cover it up? It's lovely."_

_With anyone else, she would have taken it for flirting, but he seemed sincere enough, and she forced herself to relax as she scrambled for a response. She could hardly tell him the truth: _My teachers at the Night Court considered it a defect. Physical perfection was the canon. Any deviations must be covered up, hidden away... or forcibly removed.__

_"Spacers consider it ill-luck," she said at last. It was true enough. "I prefer to avoid giving offence, or accusations of the Evil Eye."_

_Karrde shook his head. "I don't believe in superstition. We make our own luck--you more than most. You're not defective--far from it. That red spot in your eye, combined with your...unique reaction to pain mark you as an _anguisette_."_

_"A what?" Surely, she would have heard of this before on Coruscant, the center of trade and commerce and all things civilized. It wasn't the geographic center of the galaxy, yet everything in the Empire revolved around it. Yet she didn't recognize_

_"There hasn't been one in, oh, three hundred years, at least. Ancient history, practically, I know. Yet it was the height of fashion in that era for everyone to wear contacts to emulate what you have naturally."_

_She was speechless. All these years of believing herself to be a freak--of hiding her disfigurement, and taking care not to prick her finger or stub a toe in public, lest people notice, lest people see--of the stunned reactions and horrified glances when anyone learned the truth-- It took all her control to bottle up her emotions, lest she fall apart in front of Karrde and humiliate herself yet again._

_Even the Emperor had seen her reaction to pain as a weakness to be overcome, not a strength to be cultivated. She'd served him well in spite of it, but--_

_Karrde gave her a calculating, probing look. "You've been here for seven months, Mara, and I've greatly appreciated everything you've brought to this organization. But in light of this development, I have a proposal for you..."_

So that was the beginning of her time as an _anguisette_ in Karrde's employ. She would always be grateful to Karrde for naming what she was, for transforming her flaws into a valuable--desirable, even--asset. But he'd been wrong about one thing: she had brought him ill-luck after all. Him and the Jedi both. She'd thrown everything on a desperate gamble to save their lives, and she wasn't sure it would succeed. 

She hoped Karrde would forgive her for it. The Jedi definitely wouldn't. She hoped he wouldn't find out. But even if he did, it would be worth it--if they lived. If they all lived. 

She just had to keep telling herself that. 

***

When the stormtroopers escorted her back to her cell, it was all she could do to walk out under her own power with her head held high. She wouldn't give any of them--especially their commander--the satisfaction of seeing her so easily undone, even if they both knew it was a lie. She waited until they had locked the door behind her to fall to stumble the rest of the way to the 'fresher, peel off the damn uniform and throw herself into the scalding spray with her hand between her legs, scratching desperately for relief. She came almost immediately, in violent jerking spasms, but it took two more rounds before she lay limp and satiated on the floor, heedless of the water coursing over her back and down into her eyes. 

The worst part was that he hadn't even touched her. All he'd had to do was _look_ at her, and _talk_ to her, and order her to speak and she... had knelt on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her, unable to stop the desire that burned through her as her humiliation deepened, and equally unable to do anything about it. He'd watched it all with those unblinking red eyes, daring her to beg him to stop, and she hadn't because she couldn't let Karrde and the Jedi die, not without at least trying to save them. 

Even in the 'fresher there were cameras, but she was too exhausted and spent to care. At least the running water muffled her cries, and made it harder for the spies to detect any tears. 

***

Life settled into a routine. She had access to a carefully curated collection of music, art, and holos to amuse herself, and a treadmill for exercise, but was otherwise left alone in her cell, which alternated between relief from the rest of her life, and extreme boredom. 

Every few days, she had dinner with Thrawn, with the same formal protocol from the old days of the Emperor's Night Court. She hated every minute of it and he knewit, which only deepened his enjoyment and her humiliation. A few hours before each meeting, the troopers would bring in an outfit for her to wear along with her afternoon meal, which she would wear for the assignation. It would have been easier if she'd had Chloe, as some of those costumes were complicated to get in and out of unassisted but Chloe was dead, and Thrawn couldn't bother to send anyone to help her, so she did the best she could on her own. Each one was different, and usually tied in to a particular theme of the evening, even if it wasn't immediately apparent. 

Of course, she'd asked him why. 

"Though it's often dismissed by the establishment, a culture's dress is just as much a part of the psyche of its inhabitants as any other form of artwork," Thrawn said, as if it were obvious. "I have quite an extensive collection of originals on hand, and it's rare I have the opportunity to display them on a living model." 

_All confiscated from captive worlds as tribute. Like I am,_ she thought. She poked at her nerf steak and held her tongue. 

She wished he'd just fuck her and get it over with. She'd been with aliens before, mostly Zeltrons, but that was fine; she was a professional and could handle even unfamiliar genitalia if circumstances required it. She could compartmentalize sex, wall it off, separate it from the rest of her life--but he wouldn't give her anything to work with. They were slowly working their way through the _Three Thousand Joys_ but so far nothing that required a partner, nothing that required him to make himself vulnerable to her in any way. Rukh was always lurking about, and he was very careful not to give her a weapon that could be used against him; careful not to let anything tip the balance in her favor. He was slow, methodical, and thorough-- _very_ thorough--and she suspected he was dragging it out as long as possible to deepen her dread. 

Of all her patrons, he was the most focused on psychological manipulation, rather than any physical satisfaction. There were times where he'd have her brought in, and ignore her, or dismiss her outright--but according to no pattern she could see. The randomness of it maddened her, and she knew he did it deliberately to get a rise out of her. Did he know that there was a part of her that craved the pain, that yearned for it, that preferred the rush and release of skin and blood over everything else? That denying her desires was even crueler than satisfying them? 

Probably. She wouldn't put it past him. 

She kept pressing him for scraps of information about Karrde, the Jedi, and the _Katana_ fleet, but he'd been very careful not to spill anything yet, which was not reassuring. It was hard to stay focused, hard to remember why she was doing this and why she was here when Thrawn was her only source of company. This, too, was deliberate on his part. She was trying to mold him, and he was molding her in his turn. 

In her time as an anguisette, she'd had choices. She could refuse an assignation outright, or she could halt a session gone awry with a single word--her _signale_ was written into the contract before every encounter, and a patron would forfeit his fee and more if he ignored it. She had never used it--a point of pride--but knowing that she could was a great comfort. There was no _signale_ here, no privacy, and no relief. And what other choice did she have but to stay alive and keep moving, and hope that somehow--somehow--he'd slip and leave her an opening. 

***

The worst day of Mara's life started out the same as any other, except that this time, the troopers didn't leave after they delivered her breakfast. She ignored the food, turning to the white patch of shimmersilk left on the meal tray, and unfolded it. It expanded in her hands, revealing an elegant gown the same pristine shade of white as Thrawn's Grand Admiral uniform. Then she looked closer--and paused.

By its cut, it was modest enough - a high collar around the neck, a hemmed skirt that fell to the floor, and sleeves that came down the wrists, all speckled with tiny diamonds that glittered under the harsh lighting of the cell like so many stars. It was, in fact, almost identical to the one she had worn the day she'd met Thrawn for the first time when she was masquerading as a simple dancer, one of thousands of servants in the Night Court. But the pale fabric made a mockery of any pretensions of propriety for it was all but transparent when backlit--a sheer gauze that left nothing to the imagination. 

"There must be some mistake," she said aloud, even though she knew there wasn't. Cold dread pooled in her stomach, warring with the sudden heat in her groin as she realized where this was going. 

"Get dressed," the stormtrooper said, gesturing with his blaster. "The Grand Admiral is waiting." 

There was no point in arguing, no point in hiding anything. She stripped where she stood and opened the back of the dress--of course it opened from the back--and stepped in, the skirts settling about her in a rustle of fabric as she sealed it closed around. Then she followed the troopers out the door and through the corridors--not to Thrawn's meditation chamber this time, but the _Chimaera_ 's bridge. 

There were ancient stories of women who rode naked to battle, how brave and bold they were, exposed to the elements. The bridge of Imperial Star Destroyer was not one of them, and the crew openly stared at her, though none seemed surprised by her presence. The vastness of space was visible through the wide duriglass panels, and she shivered, skin pimpling into goosebumps from the cold drafts. 

Thrawn was waiting for her at the end of the bridge. He was flanked by a cluster of Moffs, but she had eyes only for the jeweled collar in his hands--diamonds, of course, to match her dress--attached to blood-red leash. The stormtroopers pushed her down in front of him, and he smiled at the daggers in her eyes as she knelt at his feet. 

"You see, gentleman," Thrawn said to the Moffs, almost bored. "This is how traitors to the Empire are rewarded." 

Her vision blurred, the spot of red hovering in her left eye quivering as he secured the collar around her neck. In her peripheral vision, the Moffs were wavering between disgust at an alien's degrading treatment of a human woman, and their own excitement, a crude echo of Mara's own dilemma. 

Then, making sure the leash was secure, Thrawn casually turned and walked down the bridge, forcing her up on her feet to follow after him or be dragged in his wake. He gave her just enough slack for her to mimic his pace--and tugged, hard enough for set off every nerve in her body as thoroughly as if he'd fingered her. 

"Lieutenant Tschel, if you would turn on the monitors to the prison bay," she heard Thrawn say faintly, as if from a great distance. "Visuals only. No sound." 

The roaring in her eyes drowned out Tschel's reply, but she knew he'd obeyed, because the monitor overlooking the bridge lit up, showing two sets of cameras focusing on two different prison cells. And the transfer went both ways, because Karrde and the Jedi were both staring down at her with twin expressions of shock. 

_Oh, no. Not here. Not now. Not like--this._

They both looked like hell. Karrde had visibly aged, traces of grey running through his dark hair, and lines on his face that hadn't been there the last time they'd spoken on Hijarna. There was a hint of the old calculating glint in his eyes as he watched the display, but once he'd recovered from the initial surprise, he seemed resigned and sad, as if he'd expected no less. He knew what Thrawn what, what she was, and how she would respond to that. He didn't hold it against her. 

The Jedi was another matter. He held himself carefully still, but his fury radiated like smouldering coals, and his teeth were barred, as if he was barely restraining himself from leaping through the monitor and rending both her and Thrawn to pieces. His disgust was a tangible thing, beyond words or translations. The small part of her brain that was capable of rational thought noted dispassionately that she'd been right: he didn't understand her. Not at all. 

He'd never seen her with a patron before. He had no idea the depths to which she could sink. Thrawn was baiting him and Karrde as much as he was her--that, and demonstrating his power to his crew and the assembled Moffs. What a coup this must be for him. 

It was just as well she hadn't eaten or else she would have vomited everything in her stomach. Knowing Thrawn, he would have left her like that, forbidden anyone to clean up after her. That was his style, all right. 

He was good, she'd give him that. He'd been taking notes during their sessions, enough to keep the pain coming at scattered intervals, long enough so that she wouldn't become accustomed to it, but not so long that her arousal would abate. She lost track of time, lost track of everything as her vision swelled to red except for the leash around her neck and how every intent and movement contained therein, a secret message telegraphed directly to her nervous system. She floated in a hazy sea of red, desire and self-loathing rising to a fevered pitch--before her control broke, and she exploded like a star gone supernova as she surrendered everything, everything, desperate for contact, for _relief_ \--

Her last thought as she spasmed violently in an orgasm that sent her reeling across the floor was how much the Jedi must hate her now if he were still watching. 

But he couldn't hate her as much as she hated herself. 

***

_I am going to kill him. For this, and for so many other things. Soon. Soon. Soon._

She just didn't know how.


	3. Chapter 3

"You said you would let them go!" Mara spat as the stormtroopers escorted her into Thrawn's meditation chamber three days later. It was the first time she'd seen him since that day on the bridge, and the sight of him re-kindled her smouldering fury. "You lying, scheming piece of bantha shit--" 

"Oh, please. I told you you were in no position to negotiate." Thrawn turned away to contemplate the holo of a famous Alderaanian moss-painting hovering to the side, ignoring her struggles. This time the lizard was perched on a metal frame tucked against the side of his chair instead of perched across his shoulders. 

The troopers pushed her onto her knees before his chair. Her hands were already bound; she'd fought them for the first time on their way over, and nearly escaped before they'd managed to retrieve her. Two of their fellows would require a week in a bacta tank, and three more had suffered minor injuries in the process--not that that would help her now if Thrawn was inclined to punish her for it. 

"While I fully intend to keep my end of our bargain, the circumstances have changed," Thrawn continued idly after dismissing the troops. "Captain Hoffman's coordinates for the _Katana_ fleet proved to be inaccurate, and holding Karrde as a precaution appears to have been warranted. Unfortunately, he refused to share them with us, but we'll see if he changes his mind tomorrow after deep interrogation. 

"As for Skywalker, the New Republic is still squabbling over whether to accept our price for him, and the Chief of State has ignored my hints to send a strike team to remove him from our hands. So, you see--" 

He tapped the edge of his chair. A silver metal cylinder landed neatly in his outstretched palm. 

If Mara could have called the Jedi's lightsaber to her by will alone, it would have slipped from Thrawn's grasp in an instant, cutting her bonds free as it ignited in mid-air--or hurtled backwards to bisect the Grand Admiral. But nothing happened. The weapon didn't even twitch. 

Instead he rose, circling her. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, but the touch of the hilt against her shoulder blades sent a frisson of dread and desire through her all the same. 

"Do you care to re-negotiate?" Thrawn said softly. 

She swallowed, remembering the two drunks in the ally after her assignation with Tyber Zann: their severed limbs landing in the dust, their convulsive screams, blood everywhere Thought of the searing hum as the blade sliced effortlessly through flesh. Her healing abilities were exceptional for an unaugmented human, but regrowing an arm was far beyond anything she could do. 

"Don't think for a moment I wouldn't kill you," Thrawn said into the silence. "The only _anguisette_ in known space for generations is a priceless work of art, but I have burned museums to the ground, bombed entire planets for defying me and I would do it again. It would be a pity and a waste to kill you now, but I will do it if I must." 

She couldn't tell if he was bluffing. Part of her wanted to end this struggle in an explosive burst of pleasure, escape beyond his reach at last. But she couldn't help Karrde and the Jedi if she was dead. 

She shook her head. "You win," she said at last, her hatred for him momentarily eclipsing her loathing for her own weakness. If she were stronger, fasted, cleverer, she could-- 

"I always do." The hilt was withdrawn; she went limp from the sudden release of tension, even as her groined throbbed in protest. "You would do well to remember that, Mara Jade. All our games have only one ending."

_Only because you cheat,_ she thought, but knew better than to say. She already knew his answer: _There is no cheating, only advance technique._ That was what _he_ called it, at least. 

"Why don't you fuck me?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Are you afraid of me? Who would have thought the Great Grand Admiral was impotent--" 

In a human male, this attack would have triggered offended sputtering, or outright rage--all material she could work with. Thrawn wasn't ruffled in the slightest. Red eyes met her own and didn't blink. "To be honest, I've shown admirable restraint. With all due respect to your considerable charms, I'm not convinced you could handle it," he said, returning to his chair. 

She didn't see where the lightsaber went. The Alderaanian moss-painting disappeared and was replaced by a pale blue, vaguely cylindrical weapon covered with oblong spikes-- 

And then comprehension dawned and she choked. The coloration was the giveaway--it was the same pastel shade as Thrawn's skin, and the proportions were about right. She just hadn't expected--

"You, of course, know nothing of the ways of my species, nor do I particularly care to enlighten you. However, I will say that female Chiss are... accommodating in certain ways that you are... not." 

She couldn't breathe. Her whole body shook with revulsion and lust all blended into one. Damn him, damn him, damn _her_ and any other responsible parties for making her crave her own degradation like this--

"Even so, a small percentage of females do not survive the process, particularly if--" he paused, almost delicately, "the body cavity is involved--"

She shuddered violently, straining against her bonds in sudden panic. He was going to make her _ask_ for it, wasn't he? He was going to let that knowledge sit in the back of her mind, eating away at her, until she begged for it, begged for release. He knew her well enough to know how much it would torment her either way. 

The red haze was swirling on the edges of her vision. Fuck. She was losing control. She clamped down on her lower lip and bit, hard, and the bright spasm and metallic taste in her mouth was enough to stabilize her for the moment. She stared up at Thrawn in defiance, heedless of the blood dripping down her chin, and smiled, showing all her teeth. 

The console on his chair beeped, and he lost all interest in the contest, turning away to answer it as stormtroopers filed back in to carry her away. The last thing she heard before they marched her to the door was, "Ah. Now _that_ is very interesting, Lieutenant Tschel. I'll be up on the bridge momentarily."

***

"Psst. Mara. Hey, Mara. You awake?" 

"Ghent?" She sat up, blinking in confusion. She hadn't thought she could sleep after her last meeting with Thrawn, but apparently, she'd dozed off from exhaustion all the same. This had to be a hallucination. That couldn't possibly be the slicer's voice coming out from the speakers in the security camera--right? 

"Hello? I know you're in here, Mara--I can see on the _screen_ that you're awake because all your vital signs just went active, so can you please answer me--" 

It was Ghent, all right. If it was a trap, it was a clever one, but somehow she didn't think Thrawn or his ilk would go to the trouble of mimicking her fellow indenture's accent, let alone his speech patterns. 

"I thought you were dead," Mara said, squinting into the nearest camera as if she could see him. 

"So did I," Ghent admitted. "It was touch and go there for a bit. Fortunately, Gillespie and his people found me before I was too far gone. Did you know the Empire re-took Ukio before they came for us on Hijarna? Turns out Thrawn's not very good at making friends."

Under the circumstances, she could hardly blame Gillespie; she would have been unhappy too if the Empire had spoiled her retirement. "Thrawn's not very good at a lot of things. How long did it take you to slice in here?" 

"Oh, about a month. The ship kept moving, and they change encrypts frequently, which makes it harder, and some of the drugs mucked up my system so I can't concentrate very well. I was able to get all the audio/visuals for all the security cameras in here on loop so we can have some privacy, but it won't fool any of the techs if they start looking more closely. Think you can get out of here if I cover for you? Don't worry about Thrawn," he said before Mara could open her mouth to object. "He's busy with a little diversion right now." 

She thought back to the comm that had interrupted her last session with the Grand Admiral. If that was Ghent's doing-- 

Never mind. She wasn't going to get a better opening.

She scanned the room, searching for something--anything--she might use as a weapon. There was nothing but the standard, useless furniture--and the outfit for tonight's dinner on the table, with an elaborate wooden headdress arched like a Taventi cathedral and a matching corset laced with metallic boning. Perfect. 

"Can you lure someone in to check on me?" 

"You got it." 

***

Ten minutes later, she was crawling through the ventilation system with two blasters holstered in the stormtrooper utility belt wrapped around her waist, comlink pinned to her tunic as Ghent nattered away, cheerfully oblivious to the need for secrecy. After so long with only Thrawn for company, she hadn't had the heart to tell him to shut up. 

"So I learned the _Chimaera_ would be taking on supplies in the Wistril system, and decided that would be the perfect time to make our move--" 

" _We_?" Mara interrupted, unable to restrain her curiosity. "D'you mean Gillespie? Who else is in on this?"

"Look, it's complicated, all right?" Ghent sputtered. "Lots of politics. I'm not very good at explaining these things..." 

She gave up, and scanned the corridor of the prison block through the ventilation shaft--thankfully empty at the moment. The proper way to get in and out of the ventilation system was to unscrew the paneling, but a blaster would work in a pinch. The gaping hole would be a bit of a problem, but fortunately very few people--especially in crisis--were in the habit of looking up. 

Hopefully, the Jedi was in a good mood, and willing to trust her. Under the circumstances, she could hardly blame him if he didn't. 

"Anybody watching?" she asked. 

"Not anymore." 

"Good," she said, and dropped through the open access panel into the corridor. 

***

The look on the Jedi's face when she stalked into his cell was priceless. 

"You--" he started to say. 

"Hi, Luke!" Ghent chirped from the comlink. "Guess what, I'm not dead!" 

Any lingering suspicions vanished when Mara tossed him her spare blaster though his confusion remained. It would have been funny had the situation not been so dire, but she had no patience for getting him up to speed. 

"They've taken Karrde for deep interrogation. Let's go," Mara said, and turned away without waiting for a response.

The Jedi muttered a curse under his breath and followed her into the corridor. "I need my lightsaber first," he hissed in her ear, pointedly not meeting her gaze when she turned to see if he was serious. 

After everything they'd been through, he was _still_ too prudish to look her in the face? Or was he remembering what he'd witnessed on the _Chimaera_ 's bridge three days earlier? She stifled the thought, forced herself to relax. His opinion of her was irrelevant as long as he helped her get Karrde out. 

It was tempting to brush off his objection, but he had a point--their odds of success would greatly improve with a weapon that could block blaster bolts and cut through metal. Also, the thought at finally getting back at Thrawn by stealing his trophy from under his nose was irresistible. 

"The good news is that I know where your lightsaber is," Mara said as she hauled herself back into the ventilation system the way she'd come. 

"And the bad news?" the Jedi said warily, scrambling after her.

"We're going to have to break into Grand Admiral Thrawn's inner sanctum." 

_Of course you would know all about that,_ she read in his eyes. But he didn't say anything aloud, which meant she could ignore it. He knew as well as she did this was no time to pick a fight. 

***

To Mara's relief and amazement, no one on the _Chimaera_ had noticed their escape yet. If they survived, she was going to buy out the rest of Ghent's marque, assuming Karrde didn't free him on the spot. She owed the slicer that much at least. 

the Jedi muttered as Mara fiddled with the panel above Thrawn's meditation chamber. This time she'd opted for the more subtle approach--Thrawn seemed like the type to pay attention to his surroundings and she was loathe to give him any more clues than she had to. 

The Jedi was right to be nervous. Ghent had assured them that Thrawn was still up on the bridge dealing with the distraction he'd cooked up--whatever it was--but she wouldn't put it past the Grand Admiral to throw in a few additional booby-traps for unwelcome visitors. Still, grousing about it wasn't going to help now, so she ignored him, focusing her attention on the last set of screws. 

With a satisfying _thunk_ , the panel clicked open, and they were in. As usual, the room was empty, save for airy holograms of Alderaanian moss paintings clustered around the central chair. Mara scanned the shadows for Rukh, but saw nothing but Thrawn's pet lizard, still clinging to the metal frame leaning against the chair. 

A shudder of distaste ran through the Jedi as he caught sight of the lizard. "I hate those things. I can't--feel _anything_ with them around. It's like being deaf and blind all at once." 

Mara frowned. "Was that why there were so many of them were piled up outside your cell? I wondered about that." 

"They block the Force," the Jedi said, as if that explained everything. "Where's my lightsaber?" 

"It's in the chair," Mara said, gesturing towards it. "I didn't quite see how he removed it, but there's some sort of storage panel in the side." 

It was eerie to be in the room without Thrawn, with the Jedi at her side. Her gaze kept roaming around, skittish and unsettled, waiting at any moment for her captors to spring the trap. Ghent _said_ he'd got the cameras, but -- 

They were halfway to the chair when the holos of moss-painting switched off, plunging the room into darkness. "Ah, fuck," Ghent said in the same moment. "Mara, I--" 

The comlink went dead. 

"I have a bad feeling about this," the Jedi said into the silence. 

Mara raced over to Thrawn's chair and tapped furiously at the console. The Emperor had permanently hard-wired certain codes into the system so he and his agents could access them at will; she ought to be able to access it. But nothing happened. 

"They shut down the main computer," she said after a moment, stunned. In all her years of Imperial service she had never seen a warship’s main computer deliberately shut down except in space dock. To do so was to blind and cripple the craft, both inside and out. 

On the plus side, the security cameras were the least of their worries now. 

"I think they're onto us," the Jedi said unnecessarily. "Or at least Ghent, anyway." 

"You're so cheerful," Mara shot back, pointing her blaster at the console. The panel blew up under her assault, but there was no sign of the lightsaber amidst the smoking electronics. "I don't understand. It ought to be here. I _saw_ it come of here." Horror seized her. Unless he didn't put it back, after all, and took it with him--" 

"No, wait. I have an idea." The Jedi turned to the lizard. "I'm really sorry about this," he said, bending down to stroke its head. The lizard purred once, before squealing in agony as the Jedi shot it in the head. 

"What are you doing?" Mara shouted. She had no special attachment to the lizard--it was the Grand Admiral's pet, after all--but she'd never seen the Jedi hurt anything that hadn't attacked him first. 

"I told you," he said, wiping a trace of silvery blood off his hands. "They block the Force--I _need_ it--" 

_Spare me this claptrap about some mystical energy_ she started to say, but never got a chance. It was just as well. Even as she opened her mouth, the Jedi closed his eyes, reached out a hand, and--

With a familiar snap-hiss, a phosphorescent green blade stabbed out of the chair, slicing through the arm and falling neatly into the Jedi's outstretched fingers as Mara stared in astonishment. 

"Got it," he said in satisfaction, twirling the blade to and fro as if to check to the balance before extinguishing it. He casually stowed it onto his belt along with his blaster. " _Now_ we can get Karrde. Any idea where they interrogate people in this terrible place?" 

"Ghent told me where it was on my way over to your cell," Mara said, managing to recover her poise. Thank goodness he had, or else they'd be navigating blind with the main computer down. 

"Then let's go." 

*** 

Getting Karrde out of the interrogation room was easier than she expected. With the computer down, the interrogation had been halted, but there were still more guards around his cell than Mara liked. But none of them were expecting a Jedi to pop out of the ceiling with a blazing lightsaber while she provided cover fire from inside the shaft to keep anyone from calling for backup on their comlink. Thirty seconds of terror and screaming later, it was over. 

"He's unconscious," Mara said, throwing Karrde's limp arm over her shoulder as she hauled him to his feet. Dead weight, but she barely noticed it with all the adrenaline coursing through her system. so grateful he was alive. 

There was no time to savor their victory. Any moment now the Imperials would find out their prisoners were missing--if they hadn't already--and would block off the hangar bays to keep them bottled in the ship. They were going to have to run for it. 

It was hard to move quickly half-dragging half-carrying a man who weighed more than she did, but she barely noticed it with all the adrenaline coursing through her system. They were going to get _out_ , they were going to escape, they were almost there--they just had to grab a ship and--

"Don't just sit there gawping," the Jedi said, pushing past her to stare out the ventilation shaft opening into the hangar. "Let's see... mostly fighters in this bay, but there's a shuttle with lightspeed capabilities at the far end." 

"That thing has barely any shields if they launch fighters at us," Mara retorted. "If we get hit before we can make the jump--" 

"You got a better idea?" 

She shook her head. "Can you fly it?" 

"I can fly anything."

At least with the computers down, it would be harder for the _Chimaera_ to stop them once they were aloft. Mara's mind raced. This had to be a trap. Thrawn wouldn't do this unless he had a plan. And that meant-- 

As if on cue, Thrawn stepped out into her field of vision, striding through the hangar in front of several battalions of troopers. A few seconds and he would be right in front of their hiding space--

She didn't even realize she'd moaned until the Jedi's gloved hand wrapped around her mouth. Before she could struggle, she was wrapped in his arms as he held her still, the only support keeping her from falling.

To her horror, Thrawn had paused, and was scanning the hangar as if he'd heard her. She still didn't trust herself on Chiss facial expressions, but she thought he looked puzzled, as if confronted with something he hadn't expected. 

"These aren't the ones you're looking for," the Jedi whispered in her ear--to her? To Thrawn? She didn't know. His tone, while calm, was laced with the easy self-assurance of a man who expected obedience, and it calmed her. "You can go out about your business. There's nothing to see here. Move along."

Thrawn shook himself once, as if awakening from a reverie, and continued forward. With clipped, marching steps, the troops followed. She and the Jedi waited in silence in their hiding place, his hands still wrapped around her mouth and shoulders until the hangar was empty. 

With a distinctive hum, the _Chimaera_ 's main computer turned back on. 

"Too much to hope they'd leave it off forever," she said, when the Jedi released her at last. Her cheeks burned at the indignity, at how close she'd come to getting them both caught. _Some spy you make,_ she thought in disgust. _Whose side are you on, anyway?_

To her relief, the Jedi didn't lecture her over her nearly-fatal indiscretion. "On my mark--grab Karrde and run," he said, as he ignited his lightsaber. "Whatever you do, don't look back."

She nodded. There was nothing else to say. 

***

They were halfway to the shuttle when the hangar exploded with blaster fire. Mara didn't stop, even as a bolt zipped past her ear, whirling to keep a TIE fighter between her and the enemy. The smell of burned flesh as Karrde's body spasmed against hers meant that he'd been hit, but there was no time to stop and investigate. All she could do was keep running and hope her burden would still be alive at the end of this. 

At least the Lambda-class shuttles were easy to hotwire open. She dragged Karrde up the ramp into the shuttle and sprinted to the cockpit, slamming down the preflight sequences as fast as she could. Through the viewports, she could see the pitched battle ensuing as the Jedi held the fire, one man with a glowing sword against dozens of stormtroopers flooding into the hangar. He was buying her time to get out with Karrde, time to escape, and even as she eased the shuttle up into the air, she knew she couldn't abandon him to his fate. Grating and unpleasant as he was, he still didn't deserve whatever tortures Thrawn had in store for him. 

So she steered the shuttle towards him, and hoped he'd take the hint. 

The shuttle had two forward-facing laser canons, but there was no time to fire. It didn't matter--even the Empire's finest marksmen had a tendency to flinch when a spacecraft was accelerating in their direction. The Jedi saw her coming, and got the message loud and clear--and flipped backwards up into the air over the shuttle as she dove in, landing with a solid crunch on the top hatch below the dorsal stabilizer. He fell into the cockpit as she popped it open, somehow managing to stay on his feet as she pulled up and headed for the exit, slamming the hatch closed seconds before they hit vacuum. 

"Well done," the Jedi gasped as he staggered in the co-pilot chair beside her. "But we're not out of here yet-- Set a hyperspace course for anywhere-- _anywhere_ else and we'll sort out the details later--" 

Even as he spoke, TIE fighters were launching, spitting laser fire after them as they streamed away. Any moment now, the _Chimaera_ would bring her own guns to bear--or worse, engage the tractor beams--and then they'd be _really_ in trouble--

The Jedi wrenched control of the ship, pulling them up seconds before a Mon Calamari cruiser appeared in the space they so recently vacated. Fourteen other ships, all marked with New Republic colors, popped into existence as the shuttle's viewscreen blared a warning. 

_The New Republic is still squabbling over whether to accept our price for him, and the Chief of State has ignored my hints to send a strike team to remove him from our hands,_ Thrawn had said. Evidently, the Chief of State had changed her mind. Which was lucky for them, but--

From the Jedi's expression, he was just as startled by this unexpected turn of fortune as she was. The navcomputer beeped, signaling the imminent jump, but now it was his turn to hesitate, his hand poised on the lever that would send them to safety. 

"What are you waiting for? Do it!" Mara screamed. The Jedi grimaced and pulled down, just as the shuttle shuddered around them with the electric crackle of ion canon fire, throwing her and everyone else against the controls. For one heart-stopping moment, the stars blurred into streamlines--and then went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chiss genitalia are based on those of [_Callosobruchus analis_ beetles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Callosobruchus_analis_penis.jpg) IRL. Likewise, [traumatic insemination](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Traumatic_insemination) is also a real thing. Isn't biology fun? 
> 
> And yes, of course that unnamed Alderaanian moss-painting is _Killik Twilight_ , why do you ask?


	4. Chapter 4

The ion cannon blast fried the hyperdrive and sublight engines, stranding the shuttle in empty space, far from both the battle and any star system. The gravity and life support limped on, albeit in a much reduced capacity. When the computer was working, it claimed there was enough oxygen for three days. The flashing lights and frequent failures made Mara suspect that was an optimistic assessment at best. 

There wasn't much in the way of medical supplies available, but she did her best to tend Karrde's wounds while the Jedi turned to repairs. Karrde woke up once, only to immediately drift off into sleep again before she could get anything coherent out of him. She shook her head, ignoring the tightness in her stomach at the thought of permanent brain damage from whatever horrors Thrawn had subjected him to. She hoped they'd gotten Karrde out well before that particular stage of deep interrogation--and before he'd revealed the location of the _Katana_ fleet. Either way, there was nothing she could do about it now. 

She returned to the cockpit to find the Jedi tucked underneath the control panels, fiddling with wires, though he sat up quickly as she came in. "Karrde all right?" he asked, pushing back a few strands of hair that had escaped his queue. 

"For now." Mara poked gingerly at the stray wires as she settled herself in the co-pilot's chair next to him, but nothing happened. "I mean, he'll die if we don't get out here, but no sooner than the rest of us. Any idea where we are?" 

"None. The navcomputer keeps crashing before it can give me any sort of coordinates. Even if we could reach Ghent on your comlink"--his eyes flicked up the useless device still clipped to her tunic--"they wouldn't know where to find us." 

"So we're going to die here." 

"Maybe. Maybe not. I used the Force to--to reach out to my sister, but I didn't get any response. Even if she heard me I... spent so long blind and deaf on the _Chimaera_ , she might have thought me dead... or a dream." 

His sister. Right. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back as far as the chair would allow. "Were you going to mention _your sister_ is Leia Organa Solo, the New Republic Chief of State? Or was that supposed to be a surprise?" 

Blue eyes blinked in surprise, then quickly flicked away. He hadn't expected her to know that. "Were _you_ ever going to mention you were the Emperor's Hand?" he countered. "Or was that a surprise, too?" 

Now it was her turn to pause. "Did Thrawn tell you that? What makes you think you can trust anything he says?" she managed-- a half-second longer than she should have for a plausible denial. 

"He was _trying_ to turn me against you," the Jedi said patiently, not fooled in the slightest. "The fact that he told me the truth in this case was irrelevant. Mostly. My point is, you can hardly expect me to be forthcoming about my past given the terms of my contract, and you have hardly been a model of openness and trust by withholding your own."

His self-righteousness irked her, though his reasoning was logical enough. "Is that all this is to you? A contract?" 

There was a bitter note in the Jedi's laughter. "Technically, I _failed_ my contract when I let the two of us be taken by the Empire. I should have killed us both before that happened. Please have the kindness not to throw it in my face, as Thrawn did." 

For once, she didn't have a snappy comeback. The silence stretched out between them, a glaring knot of tension made worse by his refusal to meet her gaze. The Jedi shook the loose strands of hair out of his face once more before giving up and re-incorporating them into the main braid. 

"Anyway," he said at last, "since you mention it, Leia _is_ my sister. My twin, actually. We were separated at birth, and never knew each other growing up. She was adopted by the royal family of Alderaan and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle on an obscure planet in the Outer Rim. Tatooine." 

Mara made some mental calculations. "That Jabba the Hutt's old territory?" 

"The same." He closed his eyes, as if summoning long-forgotten memories. "When I was ten, a hooded man took me away to become a Jedi. To protect and serve those who contracted with us. How much do you know about the Order?" 

"Not much." She was vaguely aware there had been a fashion in the last days of the Republic for every Senator worth a damn to have a Jedi bodyguard, but the cult had fallen into obscurity after the Clone Wars, reduced to a mere shell of their former glory. Since they'd stayed out of politics, Palpatine had ignored them, and it became fashionable to hire Mandalorian merenaries and Mistryl Shadow Guards--and more affordable. Even in their heyday, Jedi didn't come cheap. 

"Well. Ben Kenobi, my first master, served Bail Organa of Alderaan in his youth, though Organa released him after the Republic collapsed and he returned to the Order afterwards. I spent ten years with Ben, studying all the things I needed to know: lightsaber forms, strategy and tactics, piloting, the Force. It was a hard life, but not without joy, and I was good at it--eager and impatient to prove myself. Then a rogue astromech showed up with a secret message from Bail's daughter, begging Ben to return to service in her father's hour of need. So Ben took me and the droid and charted a ship out to Alderaan--only to find the Empire had gotten there first with its latest superweapon. The princess was a prisoner, and the planet... was space dust. Billions dead in a single moment of pain and terror. And there I was right in the middle of it.

"Long story short is that we got Leia out, but Ben died covering our escape. The Order recalled me, claiming I hadn't completed my training and I wasn't ready to be on my own, but I defied them and stayed with Leia anyway; she needed my help. Of course, they were right, and we both nearly died when I screwed up--" He squeezed his right hand, still gloved, as if to emphasize the point, then slowly relaxed his fist. "Anyway, after the war was over and Leia was safe, I went back to my teacher's teacher and begged forgiveness." 

"He took you back?" Mara interrupted, in spite of herself. That was _not_ how the Emperor worked. Failure was always unpleasant, occasionally fatal--but defiance was far worse, and _never_ rewarded with mercy. 

"Of course," the Jedi said, as if it were obvious. "There are so few of us left now. And--he was proud of me, too, in spite of my... unorthodox behavior. That's when he told me that Leia was my sister, and the two of us had been hidden at birth to protect us from the Empire."

_Sounds like they could have done a better job, given that you both ended up on the run from the Empire anyway,_ Mara thought. "And then your teacher sent you here at Karrde's request," she added out loud. 

"Yes." 

"Why you?" She was genuinely curious now. He hadn't wanted this assignment, either. Was this supposed to be some sort of punishment? Oh, the irony. 

He shook his head. "I don't know. I suppose I could have said no, but I had a vision and it just-- _felt_ like something I was supposed to do. What about you?" 

This was the longest conversation they'd ever had, and she still wasn't used to his tendency to turn the conversation back to her. "What about me?" she said, stalling for time. 

He wasn't going to let her evade him. "How did you become the Emperor's Hand?"

She could have lied, but something in his tone made her tell the truth instead. She pointed to her eye, the red dot always floating in her field of vision, the single spark of blood in the emerald green iris. "I was a whore's unwanted get, marked by an ill-luck name and an ill-luck appearance. My mother sold me to the Night Court, where perfection of body is valued above all else. Even as a child, it was obvious I was--flawed. But the Emperor found me worthy enough to serve him in a different way." 

There was no point to the story, none at all, yet she couldn't stop. The words poured from her mouth unbidden. 

"Everything he order me to study--running, climbing, tumbling, subterfuge, languages, poisons, all the arts of covertcy--I did. I served him all over the galaxy, in ways none of his other servants could. I could hear his call from anywhere in the Empire, and report back to him the same way. I exposed traitors, brought down his enemies, helped him keep control over the mindless bureaucracies that he needed, ferreted out corruption. I had prestige, and power, and respect. My... defects didn't matter. Not to him." He'd never let her forget them, of course, but he didn't dwell on them, either, and that was enough. 

"Though I was seen at court, very few thought I was more than... a pretty face, or part of the scenery. What my master ordered, I did. No questions. No regrets. And then the Empire fell." Her voice caught in her throat as she thought of that damned traitor Vader, who had turned on her master in the midst of battle with the Rebellion and and murdered him. "And I lost everything." 

He was quiet--too quiet--his expression unreadable. "Why didn't you go back?" he said at last. 

"I--tried. It didn't work out." She thought of Ysanne Isard's mocking laughter, and shuddered. "I found I liked working for Karrde better. Maybe if Thrawn had been around at the beginning, things would have been different--but not now. Not after all of _this_. Now I'm going to kill him, and pull his whole empire down around him." 

She thought of Dankin, and Aves and Chloe and and Chin--all of Karrde's people at Hijarna, slaughtered on the Grand Admiral's whim. If Ghent had made it out of alive, could there be other survivors? She didn't know. But even if they had all miraculously survived, it didn't change her decision. 

She thought the Jedi might laugh, but he only nodded. "You and Leia will get along splendidly. He's been a thorn in her side for years now." 

Mara shrugged, loathe to admit his unexpected family connections unnerved her. Even if Organa Solo was technically an usurper, she had a strong will, and she had taken the Imperial Palace--Mara's childhood home--by force. "Perhaps. Assuming we ever get out of here." She thought of what Thrawn had said to her in their last session, and what Ghent hadn't, and the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "She sent those New Republic ships for you, didn't she." 

"I thought about that," he admitted, still avoiding her gaze. "It was why I--hesitated to make the jump. But you were right, we had to get out of there, and I should have placed my trust in the Force. But don't worry, we'll make it through this." 

He was so calm, so confident. For a moment, she envied him his unwavering faith in mysterious energy fields. Then again, if he could call his lightsaber to his hand, why couldn't he contact his sister across the galaxy with his mind alone? Perhaps his self-assuredness was not without cause. 

"'There is no emotion; there is peace,'" he went on, falling into a rhythmic chant. "'There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force.'" 

"That's so stupid," Mara said without thinking. 

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth--beautiful like the rest of his--twisting in a frown. Even disapproval looked good on him. "What do you mean?" 

She raised herself up as regally as she could to hide her sudden discomfiture. "Emotions... exist. So do ignorance, chaos, death... and passion. You can't block whole swathes of existence so easily by claiming they don't exist."

The Jedi's frown deepened. "It's not like that at all. They make _appear_ as though they exist, but that's an illusion. They're... empty shadows devoid of anything tangible." 

"If that's the case," Mara said, disgusted by the sophistry, "then what makes peace and knowledge--and the _Force_ \--any different?" 

"Well, of course the Force exists," he said with the earnestness of a true believer, not missing a beat. "How could it _not_? "You saw it for yourself back on the Star Destroyer." 

She quickly switched to a different tactic. "It would be just as accurate to say 'There is no emotion; there is no peace'." 

"Yes, but that doesn't sound nearly so good, don't you think?" 

She glared at him. 

"Fine," he conceded after a moment. "How would _you_ say it, then?" 

"'Emotions _and_ peace,'" Mara said. "'Ignorance _and_ knowledge. Passion _and_ serenity.' I don't know about you, but that's more true to _my_ experience at least." 

She hoped he would be offended, but no such luck. "You would make a good Jedi," he said.

_Oh, no. I'm not so easily drawn into your little cult like that._

"Look, maybe the Force does exist"--she hated to admit it, but she'd _seen_ the lightsaber fly to his palm, there was no getting around it--"but it has nothing to do with _me_. I'd trust a good blaster any day, thank you very much." 

"But you can feel the Force, too," he said earnestly. "How else could you hear the Emperor's voice from so far away?"

Mara reared back in sudden panic. This was exactly why she didn't tell people about her past. They always found some way to use it against her. "It wasn't anything like that," she protested, her heart racing. "Thrawn brought his damn lizard--the ones you say block the Force--to every one of our sessions together. Believe me, I would have noticed if that lizard had an effect on my--abilities." 

Would he take the hint and back off now? She couldn't use the Force--she had nothing his little cult would want. Her master had many wonderous powers, yes--but that wasn't the Force, had nothing to do with the Force--

The Jedi closed his eyes. "I wish I hadn't killed the lizard. I feel bad about that." 

"I've seen you cut off hands and murder people with your laser sword on our way off the _Chimaera_ , and you feel bad about the _lizard_?" 

"It trusted me! It was purring! And... I killed it--because I was tired and in a hurry and it was the only way I could think of to get my lightsaber back. We're supposed to... respect life, in any form, and only use our powers to protect and defend our wards, never to attack or for personal gain." He slumped forward. "Ben would have found another way." 

"Yeah, well, I don't care what Thrawn said, you didn't dishonor your vows. You did what you had to do. You got me and Karrde out." 

"You got _yourself_ out--" 

"Yes, and I had help, too! But you don't see me complaining about it!" Why was she trying to comfort him, anyway? If he was determined to martyr himself, that was his own business, one that had nothing to do with _her_.

"I'm sorry I failed you," he said. "I saw what he did to you. You should never have had to go through that." 

_Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ she willed, but he prattled on, oblivious. Wasn't he supposed to be good at reading minds? Little prickles of arousal flared through her at the memory of that awful day on the _Chimaera_ 's bridge. Didn't the Jedi realize how uncomfortable this was for her? Or did he just not care? 

"We made a bargain," she said stiffly. "I told him I'd do whatever he wanted if he let you and Karrde go. He didn't keep it. Not your fault." 

As expected, he _didn't_ know about that. Under other circumstances, it would have been funny. As it was, she couldn't enjoy it. "You did... that... for me?" he stammered

"I wouldn't leave my worst enemy in Thrawn's hands," she said, pursing her lips in disgust at the thought. "Let alone someone under contract to protect me." _You ought to know that by now._

"But that proves my point! You'd be a _wonderful_ Jedi!" 

That was the last straw. Her temper broke, and she surged out of her chair, screaming at him in sudden fury. "You think that you can waltz into my life with such condescension, radiating disgust as if I were soiled goods or rotten meat, and expect me to bow and cower before your all-powerful _Force_ as if you owned me! And assuming we survive this, you want me dedicate my life to a bunch of celibate old men in some Outer Rim backwater who think that my profession, my work, my very _existence_ is an abomination--when _you_ can't even look me in the face? How dare you! How _dare you_!"

He still knelt on the floor, and didn't move as all the anger and frustration she'd suppressed for months came to the surface at last. He didn't interrupt, only sat with quiet patience until she was finished. Then he looked up to meet her gaze at last--and she fell silent, stunned, by the intensity in his eyes. 

"You... don't... disgust me. You never have." 

Whatever she'd expected him to say, that wasn't it. She staggered back, her anger extinguished like a spark in a vacuum, and fell to her knees, so their faces were level. 

"Prove it," she whispered. It was a challenge. A dare. A gauntlet thrown down in the night. _I'm calling your bluff._

In answer, he reached out and brushed her cheek with his left hand, letting his fingers trail slowly across her face and down the side of her neck. It was the first time in months that anyone had touched her with anything approaching tenderness, and without thinking, she leaned into the touch, closing the gap between them as she slumped against him. Any moment now, she expected him to recoil, to pull away, yet instead his arms came around her shoulders as he'd done back in the _Chimaera_ 's hangar bay to keep her from betraying their presence to Thrawn. Only this time, there was no danger, no _reason_ for him to hold her like this now--except as a sign of his trust in her. 

Seized by a perverse impulse to ruin the moment, Mara reached up and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him as she would one of her patrons, in the long, drawn-out dance of intimacy for those who craved such things. That for sure ought to get her tossed aside like a broken doll, she thought with grim satisfaction as he quivered in surprise at the contact. Any moment now-- 

It didn't come. Instead, he relaxed into the kiss with a sigh, surrendering control as his mouth opened beneath hers. When she finally came up for air, his expression was one of slack-jawed wonder, and he still hadn't let her go. 

"You..." he said simply. That single word made the universe spin as Mara realized she had completely misread the situation. 

He didn't hate her. Oh, maybe at the beginning, he had--but his avoidance had become a cloak he wore to conceal his true feelings. They were of a most unprofessional nature for a bodyguard--let alone one sworn to celibacy. 

"How long...?"

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until the Jedi shrugged sheepishly, a gesture more reminiscent of an awkward farmboy than a warrior in a pseduo-military order. "Honestly? At first I thought you were an arrogant nymphomaniac devoid of any moral compass, drifting on the winds of fortune. But then--I don't know when exactly--something changed. When you told me what it was really like being an _anguisette_ \--that surprised me. It made me think--maybe I'd misjudged you. And after that, I--I realized I'd been wrong about a lot of other things as well." 

He bowed his head as if in reflex, then realized what he was doing and forced his gaze back to her face. "I understand if you don't--feel the same way. I wasn't going to tell you. But I couldn't let you think I hated you--when it's not true--" 

"Hush," she said, and kissed him again. She didn't want to talk anymore. She was done with speech, done with anything that wasn't the language of two bodies together before fate and gravity forced them apart again. 

If he had struggled, if he had protested, she would have stopped at once, but he didn't. Instead, he followed her lead, letting her set the pace, far more graceful than anyone had the right to be in their first time. Maybe it was all those years of meditation, she thought as she eased his pants down over his hips, endless hours of setting the will against the momentary fluctuations in both body and mind, to concentrate on a single object with laser-sharp focus. She hesitated as he twitched underneath her, wondering if she'd finally gone too far, only for a crooked smile and the easing of tension in his limbs encouraged her to continue. 

There were Three Thousand Joys, and Mara had studied them all--clever ones, that required all the attention and flexibility she could muster; complex ones, with props and forms to align everything just so; crude ones that were effective for those who had become inured to subtle pleasures. She chose none of those, opting for the most basic beginnings, slow and steady, gradually building to climax. He did not protest, not even when she paused to take her own pleasure before granting him his. He drank it all in rapture, and she was struck by how freely he opened to her, how much he exposed, how vulnerable and open he was to her, and his cry at the end was raw and heartfelt. 

"So it's not just pain, then," he said afterwards, tracing a line from her neck across her torso and down the side of her body as she curled beside him. "I wasn't sure... if it always had to be violent. I don't think I could bear to hurt you, even if you wanted to me, too." 

"No, pain is a different kind of pleasure. There's... a sharpness to it, an edge, a taste to it, that's like nothing else. I don't know how to describe it any better than that." 

"And you crave it," he said softly. "Like a drug. Like..." 

Mara closed her eyes. There was no point in denying it, not after what he'd witnessed on the _Chimaera_ 's bridge. "I told you I was flawed." 

He sat up and kissed her cheek. "I don't care what Palpatine's creatures told you when you were a child, you're not flawed. You're _you_. Do you have any idea how amazing you are?" 

"You're just saying that because you have no references for comparison," she said, but she didn't push him away when he embraced her. It was foolish to encourage him like this, but she was tired and they were probably going to die here, and she didn't want to be alone anymore. "Pain is a warning signal, a sign that you're doing something dangerous and stupid. To deliberately cultivate that--encourage it--is not a survival skill."

"If that were all there was to it, then yes," he said in her ear. "But you're more than that. No one weak could have withstood what Thrawn did to you. They would have broken, crumbled completely. But you didn't." He slid one hand between her breasts, covering her heart. "Not on the inside. Not where it counts." 

"What about your vows?" she said, because that was the only way she could think of to divert the conversation away from herself. 

Instead of tensing, he relaxed, and it was a long time before he spoke. "I've always done what I felt was right, keeping with the spirit of my vows even when my actions conflicted with letter," he said at last. "They won't like it, but... they'll understand. Eventually." 

She thought he was finished, and was on the verge of drifting off to sleep when he spoke again. "We're supposed to avoid attachments, so we can remain focused on the greater good, and avoid letting our emotions cloud our judgment. But I--think it's possible to love without clinging to those whom we love. That's why I could leave Leia when I did. We're still close, but... it's different now." 

Another long pause. "I don't see how my feelings for you hinder me from fulfilling my vow to protect and serve you." He chuckled. "Like you said--passion _and_ serenity, yes?" 

"Oh, so _now_ you agree with me." She was too comfortable and warm to make a more coherent argument. Maybe it would be all right to die here, if it meant she never had to move again. To just drift off into sleep... 

She was mildly surprised she wasn't dead when she woke again. The Jedi was gone, but he'd wrapped an emergency blanket around her to keep the chill off, which meant--it hadn't been a dream after all. 

Well. She attempted to parse through her feelings over this new development, only to give up in disgust a few moments later. It was done, and she'd deal with the consequences or ignore them, whichever was easier. She pushed aside the blanket impatiently and dressed hurriedly--only to start in surprise as her comlink crackled with an unexpected burst of static. "Mara? Can you read me, Mara?" 

"W-what? Ghent?" Mara sputtered, even as the shuttle's displays pinged five New Republic warships in their vicinity. "How--?" 

"Thought you'd be glad to see us," Ghent crowed, even as the shuttle jerked and froze as one of the warships caught them in their tractor beam and began hauling them in. "Look's like the big boss's hunch was right." 

The big boss. The Jedi's sister, Leia Organa Solo. How Ghent had ended up with the New Republic she didn't know, but the Jedi's confidence in his own abilities hadn't been misplaced. They were going to survive this after all. 

Hopefully, it wouldn't be awkward with the Jedi--or his sister, for that matter. She set her face. Well, she'd make it through, somehow. She always did. 

The Jedi came in, wiping his hands on his robe. "Tell them to hurry," he said. "We've got to get Karrde to a medbay as soon as possible. He's not looking good." 

"Right." Mara whipped up the comlink. "You hear that, Ghent? Tell them there are three of us, one of whom needs immediate medical attention. Tell them--Karrde knows the location of the missing _Katana_ fleet. And we better hope the Empire doesn't." 

"Oh. Right. That whole business. I'd forgotten about that" Ghent sighed. "I'll tell them. Any other requests?" 

She looked over at the Jedi. "Do they have any hot chocolate?" he asked mildly. 

"Oooh, what's that?" Ghent said. "Is it tasty? Would I like it?" 

"Never mind," the Jedi laughed. "I'll get some when we get back to Coruscant and you can try it and see for yourself--" 

Yes. They would all go to Coruscant now. They would take Karrde to the heart of the New Republic, far enough where Thrawn couldn't get him, and bring him back out of his coma and sell the information to Organa Solo's government. With the balance tipped in their favor, the New Republic would have a definitive advantage that would keep Thrawn hard-pressed to deal with other problems--

\--and now that her debt to Karrde would be repaid ten times over and her marque finished, Mara had a job of her own to do. Something that only the Emperor's Hand could do, that would hit Thrawn right where it hurt. And there were things on Coruscant she needed in order to do it right. 

And it looked like she might have company on her journey. Somehow, she didn't mind the thought of the Jedi guarding her back--not anymore. He'd be a good ally to have in the trials ahead. Despite his grandiose words, she wasn't sure yet the shift in their relationship was anything more than temporary infatuation on his part, but as long as he was willing to help, it didn't matter. 

Maybe he could even teach her some of this Force business after all; it was the sort of thing that might be very useful if she had the talent for it. No doubt his teachers wouldn't be happy about _that_ , either, but that was _his_ problem, not hers. 

How ironic that Thrawn had been the one to bring them together, to turn her guarded relationship with the Jedi into something more. He was going to regret not killing them both when he'd had the opportunity. But Thrawn was going to have a lot of regrets before Mara was through with him. 

Ghent was still chattering away as the Jedi slipped her hand in hers. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden gesture of affection, but didn't pull away. 

"Yes?" he said, quietly enough the slicer couldn't hear him.

"What should I--" Mara started, surprised by her own embarrassment, and forced herself to keep going. She had spent so long treating him as furniture, she had never once addressed him by anything other than his title. "We never properly introduced ourselves did we? I'm Mara Jade." 

His smile lit up the cockpit like a sun in nova. 

"I'd like it if you called me Luke," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Mara's descriptions of her duties as Emperor's Hand are remixed from Legends Canon material; also Luke's post-coital comments about pain and pleasure are paraphrased from Joscelin's remarks to Phedre in _Kushiel's Dart_. 
> 
> The fic technically ends here, but the next chapter will be a special bonus parody covering certain events from Luke's POV--which is wildly and hilariously different from Mara's--so stay tuned!


	5. Bonus Chapter: From a Certain Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Jacqueline Carey is re-writing _Kushiel's Dart_ from Joscelin's perspective, I thought it might be fun to do the events of Chapter One of this fic from from Luke's POV as a fun little easter egg, now that the main fic is concluded. Enjoy!

_From the journals of Luke Skywalker (voice transcript)_ :

I've only been protecting Talon Karrde's _anguisette_ for thirty standard hours, but that's long enough to realize that taking this assignment was a mistake. It's my fault for going on instinct instead of reading the fine print in the briefing. If I had, I would have known that _anguisette_ is a fancy name for a high-end indentured prostitute. One who specializes in pain, apparently. Ugh. Master Yoda's snicker when I accepted should have tipped me off that this was a punishment, not a promotion. 

Karrde's nickname in the fringe is "the Whoremaster of Spies". I thought it was an insult from disgruntled rivals, but it's the literal truth. I was hard-pressed to reconcile his personal charm with the sordid nature of his "side business," as he calls it, and I was so disgusted it was all I could do to hold myself together. Fortunately, grim stoicism fits the public imagination of Jedi, and no one else tried to talk to me. 

Even the _anguisette_ herself ignored me as I trailed her to her evening assignation, for which I was grateful. I spent most of the night meditating in the anteroom, trying and failing to ignore the cries and moans coming from the other side of the wall. When she finally emerged an hour after local dawn, her whole face was raw and bloody, pockmarked with scratches, and a huge purple bruise had enveloped her left eye. There were matching marks all down her back and around her neck, contrasting with the red tattoo that marked her indenture.

Of course I stared. Who wouldn't, in my place? Then I remembered where I was and averted my eyes, as Ben and Yoda always told me to do when interacting with someone under my protection. Not fast enough, as it turns out. 

She saw my reaction and sneered, sweeping out as if she were the Queen of the Galaxy instead of a sex worker rented by the hour. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with sex work--I've just never seen anyone take _pride_ in it the way she does. But that has to be an act. There's no way there isn't coercion involved, even if Karrde says she enjoys it. The contracts spell out exactly what can and cannot happen in her sessions, and there's supposed to be a safe word she can use if things go wrong, but I... think back to the slave markets I saw growing up on Tatooine and shudder. Leia is working to stamp out slavery in the New Republic, but indenture is more complicated, and harder to outlaw. Legal or not, I don't understand why anyone would choose this life if they didn't have to. 

My one consolation is that the _anguisette_ doesn't want me around, either. She made it very clear--in a manner both coarse and crude--that she doesn't want anything to do with me. Which is fine. I'm a bodyguard, not a confidant. She's a professional, and I am, too. We don't have to like each other, we just have to get along. 

Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll persuade Karrde to drop me after all. I know she's already complained about me to him and he put his foot down. I almost pity Karrde; she has the look of someone used to getting her way. Then again, it's not my job to care. 

Unless Karrde caves under pressure, I'm stuck here until Master Yoda recalls me or my contract ends, whichever comes first. If I cut and run again, I'll be kicked out of the Order--for real, this time. As much as I've struggled against it, the Order is my home, my family, just as much as Leia and Han and my friends in New Republic are, and I don't want to lose it again. 

I still don't understand why she hates me so much. 

***

Not everything here is terrible. The scenery is impressive--glowing rocks, majestic sunsets, an honest-to-Force _castle_ with actual battlements. Karrde's sense of the dramatic is exceeded only by his penchant for puns, which is oddly endearing. We don't talk much, but he's cordial when he passes me in the corridors, and our weekly meetings are friendly enough, if brief. 

Personal interactions with my ward are kept to an absolute minimum, by mutual agreement. While we're at Karrde's base, there's not much for me to do. I meditate in the courtyard outside her quarters, where I've constructed a plinth, open and empty, to represent the Force. A little piece of home here on Hijarna. I can't believe I miss that goddamn desert after all, but I do. 

(I never thought I'd say this, but I even miss the swamp and that stupid mud hut I shared with Yoda. Gah. Food's way better here, though.) 

Ostensibly, Master Yoda forgave me for abandoning my training--I think he dubbed it "a leave of absence for personal reasons" in my file, which is true enough from a certain point of view--but that doesn't mean he'll ever let me forget it. He remembers _everything_. Everything. Especially what happened with my father. 

Maybe that's why he took it so hard when I stayed with Leia after Ben died. He thought I was following in my father's footsteps, abandoning the Order to follow my heart the way Anakin did. Yoda was right, though--I _wasn't_ fully trained, and Leia and I both nearly died on Bespin because of it. But I won't make that kind of mistake again. Not on _this_ job. 

The closest thing I have to a friend among Karrde's people is Ghent, an absent-minded slicer with two left feet. He's indentured, of course, and woefully indifferent about his status like everyone else here, but he's the only one who doesn't seem put off by my position, even if he does enough talking for both of us. At his request, I've been teaching him the paired lightsaber forms; it's good way to keep my skills sharp. So far, I haven't seen much action, and I don't want Master Yoda to chastise me on my return for slacking off... 

***

I told Master Yoda when I took this job that I was ready for anything, but that was wrong. I wasn't ready for tonight. We were attacked after her assignation on the way back to the spaceport, and she didn't listen to me when I told her to let me handle it. The little fool reached for her blaster anyway, and made herself a target, and then I had a hostage situation on my hand. 

Fortunately, our assailants were easy to disarm--literally--so I was able to get us away and back on the ship. She was deadweight in my arms, and I admit I let my anger get the better of me as I hauled her on board--I was far rougher than I needed to be. She--doesn't react to pain the way I expected, and it was disturbing. I let her go instantly, but not before she saw how much it unnerved me. 

It turns out Karrde wasn't exaggerating. An _anguisette_ isn't merely a prostitute who specializes in pain, it's anyone with a genetic condition that alters the brain so painful stimuli is interpreted as pleasure. Which apparently is quite popular among certain subgroups in the Fringe. She's not a victim and never has been, except perhaps as a deliberate set-up in her role-plays. I feel like such an ass, but I don't even know if I should apologize for something I never said aloud... 

Something about her makes me wonder if she might be open to the Force, but she keeps shutting me down every time I bring it up. I'll try to be more subtle in the future, but I'm honestly curious. I've never met anyone who shines as brightly as she does before. 

***

I notice I keep feeling lightheaded when I'm around her. My stomach hurts, my skin prickles, my face keeps flushing for no obvious reason. Is this the Force's doing, or am I coming down with something? I gotta have one of the medical droids check me out and make sure. The last thing I need is a fever with this upcoming trip to Trapan in two days. 

***

Update: Two-Onebee says the scans come out clean; there's nothing wrong with me. No diseases, no allergic reactions, nothing that can be detected by medical science. Why do I feel so awful and off-balance, then? Especially when the _anguisette_ is around?

It's got to be some sort of disturbance in the Force. What else could it possibly be? 

...Oh, no. No. No. No. That can't be right. That's impossible. There's no way in hell I'm attracted to this woman. 

...right? 

*** 

I broke down and convinced Ghent to set up a secure comm channel to Han and Leia back on Corsucant so I could talk about this . Leia said that I'm an idiot, and of course, it's love. Han said that I was an idiot, but not to worry, nobody understands women anyway--but not when Leia could hear him. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse about the whole business. 

I know I should tell Master Yoda about this, but it's too embarrassing to contemplate. Either he'll recall me, or he'll laugh at me, and no matter what, I'll feel like a failure. So I think I'm just going to keep this to myself. As long as I don't _act_ on how I feel, it doesn't matter. I won't let this cloud my judgment... 

That said, I'm grateful for the excuse not to look her in the eye.... The _last_ thing I need is for her to find out about this. 

***

Leaving for a rush job to Pantolomin in a few minutes. Karrde's sending her to track down some ship captain and seduce him for information. Blah, blah, blah, the usual. I'm nervous and edgy about leaving Hijarna, and I don't know why. The security systems are perfectly in order; I checked them three times, and everything was fine, but I can't seem to settle down. 

I have a bad feeling about this...


End file.
